It's Just Something He Knows
by spiceandnice
Summary: A HenryBetty fic centered around the evolution of their relationship, from Henry's POV. Chapter 3 covers episode 1x10 has been revised to address formatting errors and ready!
1. One Tenth of a Second

**Synopsis/Spoilers: **The evolution of Mode's newest potential super couple, Henry and Betty from Henry's POV. The first chapter concentrates on Episode 5 ("The Lyin', the Witch, and the Wardrobe"), and the initial meeting introduced in episode 11 ("Swag") never happened.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Ugly Betty,_ although I wish I did (in particular my own Henry). Thus, I have no formal connection to ABC, Silent H Productions, or anybody/anything else in connection with the show. I am but a humble, devoted viewer. Please don't sue, please credit me if you use excerpts (or my character Jacobs) of my story, and please give me your constructive criticism.

**Author's Note: **Yes, all the facts I use are true. At least, according to the Internet they are. The least I can do it try to be an authentic Henry. Thanks for all the feedback in advance!

**------------------------------------------------------------------**

**Chapter One: One-tenth of a Second**

_Fact: The retina processes about ten one-million-point images per second._

Love at first sight takes one-tenth of a second—that's how long it takes the brain to process an image. Seemingly useless fact, but it's just something Henry knew.

Here's what else he knew: It took him exactly one-tenth of second after setting his gaze on Betty Suarez to realize he was smitten.

-:-:-:-

Henry hadn't realized he was going to fall head over heels that day. If he had, he would have done a double Windsor knot, or pressed his pants, just any little extra bit of effort to look nice.

Nor could he have had any indication that his life would change that fateful Tuesday. His morning was textbook typical—He woke to his alarm (6:00 am sharp), showered, shaved, brushed his teeth, combed his hair, and dressed himself in his immaculately clean blazer, dress shirt, and slacks. With his briefcase in his hand and a whole-wheat bagel in his mouth, he rushed out his studio loft, early, with no worries about being late to the office.

Henry was a senior associate for Meade Publication's internal audit department. Impressive, but as he always humbly said, he was one out of 50 who held the position. Still, at twenty-nine, he was financially stable and sufficiently content with his place in the world.

Nevertheless, Henry often wondered how he ended up working for such a posh company, like he did this Tuesday on the commute to work. Swanky and sophisticated he was not. "Collected and confident with a deep respect for simplicity and gentility" was his motto.

In fact, it was his essay describing his creed and how it would bring back honor to the corrupt world of accounting that earned him a scholarship to NYU'S prestigious Stern School of Business. Six years, and an M.S. & M.B.A. later, Henry was a recruiter's dream—all the Big Four wanted him. But Henry had fallen in love with the city since he moved to New York—he loved the cabbies, the flash-happy tourists, the American Ballet, the Met, the couples gliding across the ice hand-in-hand at Rockefeller Center …he loved it all too much to give it up for a 14-hour working day in a stiff, dimly lit cubicle. So, much to the horror of his family and friends back home, he declined all offers and began looking for other employment options.

Two years ago, Henry heard through the grapevine that Meade was looking for new hires. Every New Yorker knew about Meade Publications. There was talk that CEO Bradford Meade was set to be the next Rupert Murdoch. A position there meant job security for life—any company would hire someone who had worked for Meade. But for Henry, what appealed to him most was the chance to rub elbows with the political analysts writing about the crisis in Darfur, the critics whose cultured palates could tell him why caviar was supposed to taste good, and the well-travelled journalist who could tell him which hot spot to visit with his vacation time. And so he had filed an application, charmed them with his knowledge of Sarbanes Oxley, and had walked out with an offer all in one day.

Those were the reasons he joined the Meade Publications, and he loved his job, but one of his main reasons for staying was—

"Happy Halloween, bwahahaha!"

Startled, Henry let out a quiet yelp, being brought out of his reverie. Facing him with a devilishly boyish grin was his best friend, and fellow coworker, Jacobs…well, nobody knew Jacobs first name. That was something between only him, his "momma," and God.

-:-:-:-

He had met Jacobs his first day on the job. Henry had gotten there at precisely 8:00 am, an hour earlier than he was required to clock in. He figured there would be paper work, and that he would inevitably get lost.

He punched the "up" button to the elevator and nervously clutched the handle to his briefcase. Unbeknownst to him, a lithe but well defined man of similar age, dressed in a stunning camel hair blazer from Armani's Purple line, had crept up from behind, nonchalantly sipping on his coffee. When the doors open, the man crept past him.

"Floor," he said, dully, as the doors closed.

"Um, three?"

That seemed to perk his curiosity. For the first time since the two had stood next to one another, the man looked at Henry, squinting his eyes and analyzing him…critically. After a few moments, his faced relaxed, and Henry was rewarded with a small smirk.

"So, you're the new guy?"

"Huh," Henry fumbled, his mouth suddenly dry.

"The new guy in Accounting. 3rd floor? I'm Jacobs by the way."

"Um, yeah, nice to meet you, I'm—"

"My new wingman. We're going to make an awesome team."

The elevator dinged to let its passengers know they had arrived at their chosen destination. Again, with a graceful swoop, Jacobs stepped out of the elevator and motioned Henry to follow. With one hand on his shoulder, Jacobs ushered his new mate out.

"So, my friend, how do you take your coffee?"

-:-:-:-

"Crap! Jacobs, you scared me."

Again, Jacobs just smirked and thrust a cup in Henry's direction.

"That was kind of the point. Spirit of Halloween and all that nonsense. Here's your frappuccino, metrosexually served, per usual."

Henry gratefully accepted the cup, relishing the first drops as they trickled down his throat.

"I never took you to be the festive type, Jacobs."

"Are you kidding me? Hot, slutty nurses; hot, slutty policewomen; hot slutty Halloween. It's the one time of year Lycra is not fashion suicide. I'm all about "tricking" and "treating," if you know what I mean."

Henry couldn't help but smile at his friend's less than subtle sexual innuendo. If Henry was the poster child for accountants everywhere, Jacobs was its rebel. Jacobs was more worried about how he looked in his designer suits than whether or not Meade was in trouble with the IRS. Incredibly gifted, he worked taxation because "any girl will put out for a man who does their taxes. It's the ultimate aphrodisiac." Particularly the women at Meade, and more specifically, the women of _Mode _Magazine, to whom Jacobs was an expert on.

The elevator chimed, and the two were thrown in amongst the mob of Meade employees. It was their daily bonding ritual—Starbucks and manly talk. While the two waited for the pushing to subside as everybody managed to squeeze in Jacobs took a sip of his coffee, sputtering and gagging. Everybody's heads turned.

"Are you still taking your coffee black? Why don't you just wave your white flag of surrender and add sugar & cream," Henry inquired, pretending to take another sip from his own cup to hide his laughter.

"Please, everybody knows women like strong men," Jacobs scoffed. "And nothing says 'strong' like potent death. It grows hair on your chest. You might consider trying it sometime," he sneered as they passed by an eavesdropper, off onto the third floor.

"I'll try to remember that, Jacobs."

"Do," he replied, distractingly as he thumbed through some files. "It's tidbits like that which will come in handy." Not finding what he was looking for, he flopped them on the secretary's desk. Taking one final swig of his coffee, Jacobs threw his cup into the trash over his shoulder, leaving Henry standing there alone.

"Just think, my friend, today could be the day your life changes forever."

-:-:-:-

The screen was winking at him. In florescent green.

Henry inwardly groaned, as he took off his glasses and shut his eyes. He had been staring at the computer too long. One more T-table and he was going to scream.

"Whatcha doing, slackie?"

Without evening opening his eyes to reply, Henry sighed, "I'm not, I was just tak-"

"Yeah, bored already. Want to have some fun?"

Reluctantly, Henry opened his eyes. He was welcomed by Jacobs face from the nose up peering over his cubicle. Upon recognition, Jacobs wiggled his eyebrows in jest. Again, Henry couldn't help but laugh at his off-the-wall friend.

"Okay, I cave. What do you have in mind?"

With Henry's verbal invitation, Jacobs whipped around, plopping himself in the spare chair next to Henry.

"Oh, it's good. A bunch of us guys convinced Robert to see how much honey he could eat before he gets sick for $50.00."

"Why would he agree to do something like that?"

"Henry," Jacobs sighed, exasperatingly hitting the Salma Hayek bobble head (a gift from him to Henry so that he could recognize the epitome of beautiful), "Because he's bored, like the rest of us. Don't question a thing like this, just embrace it. Halloween is a time for tom-foolery, no?"

Henry stood up and peered around him. There were people chatting, George was sleeping, but nobody seemed all that focused at the task at hand. Feeling himself relax, he turned to face Jacobs and smiled.

"You're right. I'm in."

"Great. You have to put $5 into the pool. And we all voted for you to get the honey, since you're the grown up around here," Jacobs said hurriedly, rushing out of the cubicle.

"Wait, where am I supposed to get honey in the City?"

Disappointed at his failed attempt to escape further conversation, his friend turned around slowly and shrugged his shoulders. Tapping his foot on the carpet, he posed purposefully, looking pensive while showing off his toned ass.

"I know! Go up to the _Mode_ floor and steal theirs."

"You can do that?"

"Are you kidding me? One, they are kinky bitches, and two, _Mode_ employees don't eat—they just order food that coordinates with their outfits. I bet they have plenty, just ask for Amanda." And with that, he sauntered off, leaving Henry flustered and on a mission.

-:-:-:-

Henry's first tentative step onto the Mode floor came down with a loud thud. Wincing at the sound, he froze in mid-walk.

_Way to make an entry, you klutz._

In two years at working for Meade Publications, Henry had somehow managed to avoid the white marble floors of Mode. This was mostly because Jacobs called first dibs on any of the files that came from the publication, but Henry knew deep down inside it was because he realized they had nothing to offer him. Whenever Jacobs would return from a visit, he would chatter enthusiastically about how Mode had the prettiest women in the entire building. But that was all he said about them. Nothing about the girls being funny, or witty, or intelligent. Just pretty. And that wasn't enough for Henry.

Which meant he had nothing to be nervous about. _Get a hold of yourself, Henry._

SQUEAK! This time the noise was undeniably abrasive. A bevy of perfectly made up faces pouted their collagen-filled lips and glared at him. Blushing, Henry bowed his head as he cautiously padded the floor up to the circular reception desk.

"Hi, I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm looking for Amanda."

"Um, if you bothered to look up, you'd see Amanda's not at her desk right now."

Startled by the abrupt and clipped voice, Henry forced himself to raise his head. Indeed, no one was at the desk—he had been talking to air.

"But," the woman dressed in a skin tight, Chanel sweater dress, retracted, smiling brightly after finally catching a glimpse of his adorable features, "is there something I can do for you?"

_Yikes_. "Um, no, thank you. I'm really just looking for Amanda. I was told she was the go-to girl."

Narrowing her eyes, upset at the apparent rejection, the model whipped her head to her right, her amber curls rippling in waves.

"Well, in that case, she's with Betty."

Nodding thanks, Henry spun on his heel in the direction the model had motioned towards.

And that's when he saw her. Madame Butterfly.

-:-:-:-

There she was in all her purple and gold, glitter-winged glory.

Now, Henry knew he was very smart. He could quote Shakespeare, he knew the names of all the Supreme Court justices, he knew all the countries that made up Africa…and yet, at that moment, Henry's brain shut down. His breath grew a little shallow; his palms grew sweaty; his heart beat faster; and his pupils dilated in pure admiration for the fiery brunette who had the courage to dress up so jubilantly in a place that clearly frowned upon anything that wasn't made by an Italian.

_Dear god, it's just a magnificent sight. I should say something before they catch me gawking. But, what?_

He stood there, glued to the floor in frustration, desperately racking his brain for the right thing to say. But before he could help himself, he had uttered,"_Nymphalis milberti_?"

Madame Butterfly and her coworker, some blonde version of the model he had just talked to, whipped their heads around.

_Great, just great, Henry._ _They are going to think you're drunk_.

He opened his mouth to try again: "Ha! _Nymphalis milberti_!"

The two just stared back him, mouths agape.

_Idiot. Play it cool_, he thought, placing his hands on his hips and smiling.

"Milbert's Tortoiseshell," he inquired, as if to explain that no, he wasn't crazy or drunk, just incredibly verbally-challenged.

But, to his surprise, Madame Butterfly didn't retract in disgust. Instead, as she rose up to his level, she flashed him a wide grin.

_Oh, her braces match her costume. That's adorable._

"Oh, I don't know. The pattern just said 'butterfly'."

Henry laughed. "It's just something I know. One of several things, actually. Circumference of the earth? Know it!"

_Oh my god. Did I just do windmill arms? Here I am trying to show her I'm not an idiot, and I do windmill arms._

Somewhere in his brain, Henry registered the blonde muttering something, but he was too fixated on the butterfly beauty in front of him. It was probably some comment about how he was making a complete fool of himself.

"Well, I should probably get back down to accounting. We paid a guy fifty bucks to see how much honey he can drink before he makes himself sick."

Henry knew he was oversharing, and he felt himself grinning like an idiot. But he couldn't help it. She was just radiant, a plethora of vibrancy and smiles. It was because of this that he couldn't be held accountable for what came out of his mouth next.

"You should come down...later…if you can."

His forwardness shocked him. And it apparently shocked his invitee, as she stumbled through a weak half-acceptance.

_Now you blew it. Just smile and run like Hell_.

So, smiling what he felt was surely going to be his last smile at her, Henry began to retreat with his tail between his legs.

"24,901 miles."

_Did she just say what I think she said?_ Henry slowly turned around in curiosity.

"The circumference of the earth….it's just something I know."

Adjusting his glasses while he took a moment to absorb the intense happiness he was feeling, Henry flashed one last boyish grin in her direction before heading off.

Madame Butterfly had sent his heart aflutter.

-:-:-:-

"Dude, where have you been all morning? Robert's already gone through two bottles. His face got stuck to the desk when he took a five-minute break to rest!"

Henry looked up apologetically, and more than a little bit guilty, at his friend. He hadn't meant to ignore the guys, but he kept on finding himself drawn to the Mode floor. He had caught glimpses of Madame Butterfly the first few times he happened to find his way down there, but the last couple of hours had proved worthless. Defeated, he had returned to his desk to daydream.

"I'm sorry, Jacobs. I think it's been all the coffee. I've had to take a lot of trips to the restroom."

He could see that Jacobs didn't buy it. Any true friend wouldn't—Henry monitored his caffeine intake very closely—he never went above the 4.3 cup average a day. That meant one in the morning, one at lunch, one for break, and one if he had to pull a late night.

"Really? Is that so? Because rumor has it you've been stalking the halls of Mode Magazine."

Henry blushed.

"Holy shit, you mean it's true?"

Before Henry could protest, Jacobs plopped down on his desk, crossed he arms, and furrowed his brow as if to say he meant business. It was no use—the truth had to come out.

"Well….let's just say you were right about Mode girls being the prettiest and leave it at that."

But of course Jacobs wouldn't.

"Fuck, my wingman is ready to fly solo! So who is it? Is it Jessica from makeup; she always wears the shortest skirts. No, I bet it was Monica from hair…"

"No! I'm not sure who it is, actually. Just that she makes an adorable butterfly. I think her name is…Betty something."

Jacobs froze, his gum falling out of his wide open mouth.

"Betty, as in Betty Suarez," he whispered, horrified.

"You know her?"

"Holy fuck, Henry," Jacobs exclaimed, dropping down from the desk and crouching beside his friend, "Everybody knows about Betty Suarez. She showed up in a freaking Mexican poncho on her first day at Mode. MODE, Henry, MODE. New York's premiere fashion publication. She's a fucking legend."

Henry felt his shoulders droop in disappointment. Not because he felt any differently about Betty, but it was apparent that all of Mead Publications failed to understand her brilliance. She did not sound stupid but cute. Admittedly, maybe a little bit awkward, but that was what made her so endearing to him. She was like him—a little fish in a big pond, a bit out of the water.

The two men sat in silent for a few resounding moments. Suddenly, Jacobs eyes grew wide, and he whistled under his breath.

"Wow, so you really like the bumblebee girl," he stated, more to himself than to Henry, as if trying to convince himself of what he had heard.

"Butterfly, actually. _Nymphalis milberti_, specifically," Henry corrected, chuckling to himself.

Jacobs blinked. "Yeah, whatever," he sighed, shaking his head, "So what are you going to do about her?"

"Her?"

"Butterfly Betty."

"Oh," Henry started, fading out quickly. He had no idea. Chasing girls wasn't really something he did that often. He opened his mouth to try again, and then closed it in defeat.

"Jesus, Henry, has being my wingman all these years taught you nothing?"

"You mean besides how to get slapped on the first date?"

Jacobs glared at him. "I'm going to ignore that, since you obviously have caught some virus that impairs your judgment. Ask the girl out for lunch."

Henry stared at his friend in disbelief. "Really, it's that easy?"

"Sure. It's just food, Henry. And by the looks of your girl, she likes plenty of it."

-:-:-:-

He had been hoping that it would take him a while to find her; that way he'd have enough time plan what he would say and calm his nerves. However, when he did find Betty, it looked like she was more worse for wear than he was.

"May I help?"

Betty whipped her head around and she desperately clung to her ripped wing with one hand, and the stapler in the other. He had surprised her, and he feared not happily so.

"Huh? Oh, no, I'm good. Thanks."

Henry hesitated for a moment before resolutely deciding he wasn't going to blow it with her a second time that day.

"Um, if you were good you could leave here and join Cirque du Soleil," he joked, grabbing the stapler from her.

She stopped protesting. Henry would have liked to think it was because secretly she liked the idea of him being so close to her, but in reality, her phone rang. Looking back at him, he flashed her his best smile.

"That should do it," he uttered, placing the stapler down and gathering his files, "Now, I want you to try to avoid crowded subway cars. Oh, and blue jays. Natural predators," he babbled, smiling nervously.

"Right, okay, thanks," she giggled softly, retuning the smile.

_She smiled at me! Now's the time, Henry. Just ask her!_

"So anyway," he began timidly, "uh, do you think maybe you'd like to go get some lunch later?"

"What?!? No!"

"Oh, yeah, okay. It's cool," he muttered, not daring to look her in the eye. His heart heavy, he turned to make a quick exit.

"No…yes! I meant yes!"

"Yes?"

"If that's still okay…"

_She said yes!_ "Yeah, I think I still may have an opening. 12:30?"

"Yeah, 12:30."

Grinning from ear to ear, unable to believe his luck, Henry waved goodbye and headed straight back to the third floor. The people in the elevator stared at him as he grinned like a fool, laughing to himself as he replayed the awkwardly perfect conversation back in his head.

Practically skipping out of the elevator, he took a detour to pass by Jacobs's desk. Sure enough he was there, surrounded by eight other men and Robert with a honey bear bottle stuffed in his mouth. While the rest of the men chanted at Robert to keep on chugging, Jacob paused and cocked an eyebrow.

"How's the bladder?"

Henry couldn't help but grin.

"You know what? I should probably stop drinking coffee now. I don't want to be full before lunch."

-:-:-:-

"Betty, do you know what you want?"

Henry had spent the last hour before lunch deciding where to take Betty. He wanted to create an experience, something to share with her that could be their own. After much deliberation, he chose the new sushi bar right across the office. Close enough so that they could spend more time together before rushing back to work, trendy enough to not seem like he was a complete geek, and exotic and pricey enough to let her know this was special for him.

"Um, I think I need another minute."

"Have you been here before? Because the caterpillar roll is awesome, no offense."

He was giddy when she laughed at his joke—he had thought of it on the way here and was hoping to sneak it in.

"Um, number four looks like…an autopsy photo. I'm sorry, sorry. Totally inappropriate."

He felt like an idiot. He should have checked with her first before taking her. Sushi was one of those love-it or hate-it type of things.

"Is this the first time you've had sushi?"

"No, God, no…yes."

Now he understood. "Then let's go somewhere else," he comforted her, starting to get up.

"No no no no no. Please, it's good for me to try new things. You know, spread my wings," she blurted out, reaching out her arms to mimic her words. It was charming, almost as sweet as sending the bottles off the waitress's carrier two seconds later. He knew how she must feel—he'd done it one too many times himself.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry. You know, all evidence to the contrary, this is not my first time out in public."

_This girl is adorably humble_. "It is mine. For parolees, these ankle bracelets are the best thing EVER," he joked, trying to make Betty forget her embarrassment.

He was rewarded with a sad, half-hearted laugh. "It's so stupid," she began, throwing her hands up in frustration, "you know, I come into Manhattan every single day for work, and it's times like these where I feel like the E-train dropped me off on Mars or something. Where I come from, people like their fish cooked and they dress up for Halloween."

Henry slowly threw a secretive smile in Betty's direction. For the first time that day, he knew exactly how to fix things. Whispering to get her attention, he ripped open his shirt to reveal his $uperman shirt. He had found it at a flea market just a few days ago when he had been trying to find a cheap costume and knew it was just perfect.

"Secret identity," he explained, whipping off his glasses.

From then on, lunch was a breeze. Betty let Henry ordered their meal—she "trusted him" not to make her sick. They spent the time waiting talking about the stuffy suits back at Meade Publications and how much they had always loved Halloween. Whenever the two fell into silence, it was rarely awkward, but a silent conversation of smiles and nervous giggles.

When the waitress set down their meal in front of him, Henry felt a stab of disappointment that the conversation would have to wind down. _God, I really like her. _

"So, I've noticed that you've been on our floor quite a bit today."

She had noticed him! Better yet, she was flirting with him!

"Have I? Hmm. I don't think it has anything to do with you. No, I just like to make the rounds, let the employees know that accounting has its eye on them."

"Right," Betty replied, shooting him a knowing smile.

"Here," Henry offered, picking up a piece of sushi for her, "this is your piece. Now close your eyes and don't peek. This is how Tom Hanks survived in Cast Away…"

"I DON'T THINK SO!"

Betty and Henry whipped around to see Walter standing in front of them, his face stuck with panic.

"Walter!"

_Walter? Who the heck is Walter?"_

"What, what are you doing here?"

"Who is this guy?"

"This is Henry. He works on the third floor."

Henry pasted a grin on his face and waved.

"Why haven't you returned my calls," Walter continued, purposefully ignoring Henry.

"I got busy."

"You're busy! Busy! Busy! Busy with what? A date?!?"

That when Henry noticed what Walter was wearing. An explorer's costume. Complete with net.

_He's her boyfriend_, it dawned on him._ He's the catcher to her butterfly. His and her costumes. I was completely wrong. She hadn't been flirting with me._

"Maybe I should go get the check, " he murmured, rising from his seat.

"I ask you to move in with me and you turn around and you cheat on me," Walter ranted, pushing forward on his jealous tirade.

"Walter, stop it, you're embarrassing me."

The tension was unbearable. Henry couldn't take it anymore. "I'll go pay the cashier."

"No, no. You stay, I'll go. I embarrass her."

Henry slumped back in his chair, not knowing what to do. Betty broke her gaze from the door momentarily to smile sadly at Henry. As if asking for forgiveness, she bowed her head, and rushed out the door.

_Maybe Jacobs was right. Betty floats like a butterfly, stings like a bee._

-:-:-:-

"There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you."

Henry didn't bother looking up at Jacobs. He felt too nauseous from lunch. Besides, he was trying to hate him. After all, it was his pep talk that gave Harry the misguided nerve to ask Betty out. Henry knew that as soon as he looked up, Jacobs would flash one of his "get out of jail free" smiles, and he'd have to start accepting he was just a pathetic lothario.

"Dude, we're late, are you coming?"

Henry groaned. He had no choice now but to acknowledge his friend. Because he had no idea what he was talking about.

"Shit, Henry, what the hell happened to you, man," Jacobs asked, sympathetically, wincing at Henry's expression.

"Was it that bad? You have puppy face written all over you."

"Puppy face?"

"You know, like your dog just got shot. You look like shit."

Henry just nodded and began organizing his desk. He was starting to feel sick again.

"Look, do you mind if we don't talk about it? What are we late for?"

Jacobs paused, contemplating what move to make. But his friend looked so miserable, he decided not to push it any farther.

"The party with human resources up on 25. You look like you could use a beer."

"I wouldn't say no."

"Great, we just need to go get them. Robert was in charge, but he's not doing so well. I think he may need to have his stomach pumped."

Henry glanced at his friend and couldn't help but smile a little. Patting him on the back, the two walked slowly to the elevator.

"You know what, Jacobs? I'll get it. I could use the fresh air."

Jacobs nodded and stepped into the elevator.

"Henry?"

"Yeah?"

"It's her loss. I mean that. You're the reason girls haven't given up on the rest of us losers."

The two exchanged brotherly smiles before the elevators closed tightly.

-:-:-:-

He stood in the elevator, leaning against the door. He just needed a few minutes alone. A few moments of complete silence, away from the crazy Halloween antics above him, and the bustling New York streets below. He just needed some time to think, to wallow, to mourn.

Unfortunately, it wasn't to be. It soon came to Henry's attention that the elevator was slowly climbing upwards. Someone had pushed the button. That someone happened to be Betty Suarez.

"Hi," he managed to eek out.

"Hi."

The moment he saw her guilt, her nervousness, and her sadness any pitying he felt for himself vanished. He was not going to make her feel any worse.

"Going down?"

Silently, Betty entered the elevator. The two stood side by side, contemplating whether or not to make the first move. And the both decided to do so, at the same time.

"You were saying…"

"I just wanted to say thanks," Betty began.

Henry felt his heart tighten. "Thanks? For giving you the most stressful lunch ever. I mean, first I make you eat slimy, sea monsters and then I get you in major trouble with—"

"That's okay. It wasn't your fault."

More silence.

"Hey, how's that guy who ate all that honey," Betty asked, trying to relieve some of the sadness in the air.

"Not great. It's why I have to make the beer run instead of him. We're having a party up on 25 with human resources if you're…free."

_Stupid. She's going to go home to see her boyfriend. Why do you do this to yourself?_

"Oh. Well, I'd love to go, Henry, but…"

"You have a boyfriend."

"Yeah. Yeah, I do. And I really want to give this thing with Walter and me a chance and--"

Before he could stop himself from asking, Henry spoke up. "Is that the guy? With the net?"

"Yeah, but he's not always like that. I'm not always like that. I should have never…I'm sorry."

He couldn't bear looking over at her. He could feel the rejection without looking at her. And it destroyed a part of him, because he could also sense the electricity between them. If only he had been a little sooner, he could have seen what kind of spark they could have elicited.

"No worries. Just lunch."

To his relief, the elevators opened, welcoming the two to the main level.

"Trick or treat, _Nymphalis milberti_."

And then he left her.

-:-:-:-

Love at first sight takes one-tenth of a second. It took Henry one-tenth of a second to fall under Betty's spell. And, to Henry, it only seemed to take one-tenth of a second for him to lose her.

-:-:-:-


	2. The Five Stages of Grief

**Synopsis: **The evolution of Mode's newest potential super couple, Henry and Betty from Henry's POV. The second chapter takes place in November, between Episodes 5 and 8.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Ugly Betty,_ although I wish I did (in particular my own Henry). Thus, I have no formal connection to ABC, Silent H Productions, or anybody/anything else in connection with the show. I am but a humble, devoted viewer. Please don't sue, please credit me if you use of my story excerpts, and please give me your constructive criticism.

**Author's Note: **First--Thank you, THANK YOU, thank you for all the heart-warming support, compliments, and patience from the LJ, and TWoP families. You guys have no idea how amazingly generous and encouraging you are to me. Secondly—I'm a bit nervous about this section, and to be honest, I'm not sure how I feel about it. It's different from what I usually write; I struggled to find the right balance of angst and fun. It is a bit darker than I usually right, but I felt it was a natural progression for Henry, and I hope you'll agree. Also, I threw in a couple of surprises, just to keep things fun and interesting. Third—Feedback. It's called that for a reason—Feed the author with your opinions and get more chapters back, lol. Much Thanks in advance.

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**Chapter Two: The Five Stages of Grief**

_Fact: After experiencing a serious loss, people go through what is commonly known as Kübler-Ross' Five Stages of Grief. _

-:-:-:-

**Stage 1: Denial**

While some people claimed that their destinies' were written in the stars, Henry always joked his had been written in a deck of playing cards.

His mother had affectionately retold the story so often he had memorized it nearly verbatim: It was your seemingly average Saturday night in the family's cozy, two-storied, deco-inspired Tucson home. All of his parent's friends had joined them in the kitchen to play poker and fuss over an adorable rosy-cheeked, apple-bottomed, toddler Henry.

"Oh, Jack and Diana, he's just precious!"

"He's so well behaved."

"Well behaved? He's the quietest kid I've ever met!"

"You've got a mime in the making, Jack!"

Now, as his mother always told him, she knew her Henry was special. The way his eyes flitted to and from each speaker, illuminating the knowledge and understanding of their words, Diana was aware Henry was a sensitive soul. Protectively, she scooped up her son and planted a soft raspberry on his silky belly, causing his body to relax as he burst into giggles.

"He's just shy, that's all. My Henry is wise beyond his years. He knows the powers of words, and he'll speak up when he's good and ready. Won't you, Sweetheart?"

Sensing the resoluteness in her voice, the others slinked back to the table and returned to their cards. With one last kiss, Diana let Henry down and winked at him.

As the adults played for what seemed like hours, Henry grew fidgety. From the table, everyone was laughing and teasing, and he wanted to join in on the fun. Making his way to the boisterous crowd, Henry climbed into the lap of the most raucous of the bunch, Mr. Broderick, the man who had forecasted Henry's future in the art of mime. Too focused on his newly dealt hand, Broderick barely registered his new guest, only shifting slightly to accommodate. Mimicking the man above him, Henry furrowed his brow in concentration and stared pensively at Broderick's hand.

"Your bid, Charles."

"TEN!"

With a start, everybody stared at the little body that had loudly, and most unexpectedly, screamed the last declaration.

"Um," Jack began, clearing his throat, "what's that, Henry?"

"Ten! TEN! One…Two…Three…TEN," he proudly replied, generously pointing out each ten in Broderick's hand.

It was a few moments before the table was able to recover from their stunned reverie. Henry slightly recoiled in fear that he was about to be punished.

"Well, I fold," Jack stated.

The adults around him burst out laughing. When Mr. Broderick affectionately messed his hair, Henry's round belly exhaled a sigh of relief.

"Jack, I take it all back. What you've got is an accountant in the making! A number's man and a little snitch!

And so it seemed Henry's fate was sealed that night. He was a number's man—always was, always would be. And, why not? They had never failed him before. Numbers had earned Henry respect all throughout school, a scholarship, a job, and for one fleeting moment…the affections of Betty Suarez.

And for the last two weeks, 14 days, 336 hours they had been helping him forget about her. Because during the last 20,160 minutes Henry had been far too busy drinking 52 cups of coffee, watching 16 hours worth of Grey's Anatomy, calling back home 4 times, taking 13 aimless walks around Manhattan, and working 35 hours of overtime to even think about Betty. At least that's what he told himself.

-:-:-:-

"I knew it! You are cheating on me!"

Sighing, Henry impatiently threw off his glasses onto his desk. Pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes clamped shut; he addressed his friend without bothering to look up at him.

"I'm kind of busy Jacobs. So why don't you just tell me what you are talking about instead of having me waste time guessing?"

"I'm talking about that," Jacobs retorted, choosing to ignore his best friend's clipped words, and pointing at Henry's empty coffee mug, "that's the third empty cup this week. And it is only 8:15 a.m.—I'm right on time for being early. So who is it that you are having secret early, early coffee rendezvous with?"

Jacobs flashed Henry one of his million-watt smiles only to be rewarded by a pair of rolling eyes and another heavy sigh.

"Oh, that. I got here early to catch up on some work, okay?"

Grimacing, Jacobs breathed in deeply to try and calm himself down. Patience was a virtue he had not inherited, and Henry had been slowly grating his nerves for the last couple of weeks. Like a good friend, he realized his pal was in a bad place, and his behavior was part of the healing process. But to him, Henry's mood was annoyingly reminiscent of his younger sister's PMS spats. So, as he stood there contemplating his next move, he decided to do what he always did: be a good big brother--call Henry out and kick his ass.

"Okay, I call bullshit on that."

That got Henry to open his eyes.

"Yeah, you heard me, BULLSHIT. You've been here early and late almost every day for the last two weeks, Henry. I think you've audited every department at least twice—you've met your productivity quota for the next decade. And I have to tell you, it hurts me, Henry…right here," Jacobs declared, exaggeratingly pointing at his heart and ignoring Henry's feeble attempts to interrupt, "that you did not come to me. For starters, if you want to do extra work, you could at least volunteer to finish up mine before you go and make me look bad by asking the boss for more. Second, you are going about getting over Butterfly girl all wrong. You need to get back in the game, come out and reclaim your wingman title."

Scoffing in defiance, Henry stood up and glared and his friend. The two stared each other down in stony silence, daring one another to speak. Henry cracked first.

"You're completely off base, Jacobs. I appreciate your concern, but I'm fine. I don't know where you are getting these disillusions about me pining for Betty, but I'm not."

As soon as it the words had left his mouth, both men knew the falsity of his statement. Hurriedly, Henry grabbed his files, hoping to collect both his workday papers and his dignity. Unfortunately for him, Jacobs was so in sync with Henry's mannerisms, he blocked any attempts of escape with relative ease.

"As my mother always told me, 'Denial's not a river in Egypt, Honey'."

Henry froze mid struggle, and for the first time in a long while, allowed himself to smile.

"Yeah, I know. I can't believe I said it either. Shut up."

Henry's smile grew wider, and shortly after, Jacobs joined him. Immediately, the air around them thinned, deflating the tensions between the two.

"Look, all I'm trying to say is that eventually the work will run out, or you will run yourself ragged. Inevitably, you're going to have to deal with what happened," Jacobs mumbled, digging the toe of his Ferragamo loafers into the floor, "and I just wanted to let you know, that, well you know, I'll have your back when that time comes."

Jacobs's awkward attempt to be emotional and supportive earned him a small laugh. Giving him a playful shove in the arm, Henry maneuvered his way around his friend and began making his way to the elevator.

"As much as I love the idea of you being my personal cheerleader, emitting healing powers from your spirit fingers," Henry teased, turning around to face him while continuing walking, "I'm _fine_, really. There's nothing to deal with because nothing happened between Betty and me."

It was Jacobs turn to snort in disgust. His friend was either so clueless when it came to dating, or he was so far deep in denunciation, that he could not hear the grief in his own voice.

"Well, that's great, Henry. Then you won't mind if I see what kind of ass kissing you are doing for the bosses, " Jacobs began, attempting to get a closer look at what was up on Henry's computer screen.

He never made it farther than two steps. By the third step, a hefty pull on Jacobs's suit jacket sent him tumbling down on the ground with a reverberating, inelegant boom. Moaning, he flipped himself over to stare up at Henry, part-shocked and part-awed by his strength.

"I'm so sorry, Jacobs. I don't know what came over me."

"Yeah, yeah," Jacobs picking fuzz off the hem of his trousers, "You wrinkled my fucking Dolce. You owe me…shit, is that what I think it is?!?"

Henry whipped his head around, following his friend's eye gaze to his monitor. Blushing a deep crimson red, he hurriedly rushed to his desk and tried to close the window, but Jacobs had already beat him to his seat. Silenced into bewildered amazement, Henry watched helplessly as his friend scrolled through ProBuy's financial statements.

"You know, Hen, last time I checked you were an _internal_ auditor. Internal, as in the inside, as in Meade Publications," Jacobs explained, slowing his words in sardonic exasperation. "Bloody Hell, how did you ever get these records? You know what? I don't want to know—this could probably land me in jail, and I have a hot date with Larissa from Transaction Services tonight."

Embarrassed by his friend's strident interrogation, Henry forcefully blocked further viewing and shut off the screen.

"It happens to be a publicly traded company, Jacobs. Their annual financial statements are a matter of public record."

"Uh huh."

"I have a good explanation," Henry stammered, nervously pretending to wipe his glasses.

"That's good," Jacobs retorted, folding his arms and leaning back against the cubicle wall in amusement, "because right now it looks like you are stalking Butterfly's boyfriend, what's his name…Birdbrain or something."

"Walter," Henry corrected, before realizing he had confirmed his comrade's suspicions, "And no, I'm not stalking him. I'll admit than when you found out for me that he worked there it sparked my curiosity to the validity of such an establishment. But, much to my surprise, I have found that it is indeed as its slogan promises: 'ProBuy are the go-to-guys for your electronic needs'."

Jacobs just smirked and cocked an eyebrow.

"And, so yeah, well I just so happen to have electronic needs. Big ones," he continued lamely, feeling the compulsion to babble on, "So, I thought I'd check the company's statements. I wouldn't want them to go out of business while my warranty was still active, in case, you know; my electronic needs were not fully satisfied. And you'd be surprised at their profit margin, especially the Queens' franchise. So I, thought, why not? Supporting Walter really just means supporting Betty, so yeah..."

Jacobs could not help but laugh. Shaking his head at his friend's anxious rambling, Jacobs silently cursed at himself for being such a softie when it came to his wingman. Henry was so transparent and so interested in this girl that he couldn't recognize it. And while he knew he should be a good best friend and just drop the issue, it was a slow day at the office, and he was in the mood to have some fun.

"Well supporting Betty means supporting my best man, so I'm game. Let's go," Jacobs enthusiastically declared, practically pouncing on his friend. Grabbing Henry's jacket he gave him a playful but meaningful push towards the elevator.

"Go?"

"Yeah, to ProBuy! That's where you were just headed off to when I came by, right? To satisfy your needs. I'll come with you and help. Hell, I'll even pay for the taxi, buddy," Jacobs assured, guiding a dazed Henry into the elevator. Laughing at his friend's deer-in-the-headlight's expression, he put his arm around Henry's shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

"Relax. It'll be fun. I mean, what's the worst that can happen?"

-:-:-:-

**Stage 2: Anger**

"Okay, I'm pretty secure in my manhood, but should I be worried that I have no idea what 'LCD' or '1080 dpi' means?"

Henry could not help but roll his eyes. Going anywhere with Jacobs meant babysitting him, and Henry did not have the time for any antics today.

"Focus, Jacobs. That's not what we're looking for."

"Well, what exactly are we looking for?"

As it turned out, Jacobs was talking to air. Henry was too preoccupied to even register his friend's remarks. In hushed silence, the two slowly walked the aisles, Henry's head whipping from left to right as he desperately tried to discover what he was searching for.

"There he is! Get down," he suddenly hissed, plunging to the floor, taking Jacobs with him.

"Dolce, DOLCE," Jacobs hissed, extracting himself from his apparently insane co-worker's clutches, "now, who's where?"

Henry did not have to answer. Jacobs followed Henry's line of sight to be introduced to a smallish, slightly gawky man.

"You're shitting me. That's Walter?"

Henry's face paled.

"Seriously? That's the guy your girl picked over you," Jacobs said in disbelief, observing the man's fruitless attempts to lift a box from the floor, his eyes bugged out in strain, "He's wearing white socks with black pants. I shouldn't even know this, except the legs are two inches too short!"

"Thanks a lot, Jacobs. You know how to sure make me feel better," Henry scowled, slumping down further behind the display.

Great. His best friend had validated it—he was a loser. Two years prowling the trendiest Manhattan hot spots with a man who could undress a woman with only his teeth and he could not compete with a man who, from the waist down, channeled Michael Jackson. A man, who incidentally, was making his way towards them.

"Crap, he's coming!"

In a whim of panic, Henry frantically pushed his friend forward as he scrambled to the next aisle over.

"Welcome to ProBuy! I'm Walter, your ProBuy go-to-guy! Can I help you with something," Walter inquired his usual nasally tenor.

Jacobs froze in horror. Shooting Henry an angry look out of the corner of his eyes, he pasted a fake grin across his face.

"Um, yes. I'm looking for, um, for...a television," he retorted, a little too loudly and merrily. "I'm all about the DPI's and LCD's," he continued smugly, mentally patting himself on the back at his use of his newly garnered techno jargon.

"Okaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay, I guess that's a start. Do you have a size in mind?"

"Oh you know what they say, the bigger the better," Jacobs kidded, playfully elbowing Walter in the ribs.

Walter chuckled nervously, clearly not fully grasping Jacob's double entendre.

"So, if you are interested in an LCD, you are looking for a flat screen? Do you have a preference for a thin screen or a wider base?"

"The way I see it, Walter…May I call you Walter? You're name tag says Walter, so I'm just assuming," Jacobs rambled, putting his arm around his unsuspecting server, leading him farther away from Henry's hiding place, "I like my TVs like I like my women. Thin but definitely not flat. But I'm just a measly Manhattan accountant, trying to escape the pressures of a big city life—"

"Oh you're from the city? My girlfriend works there," Walter interrupted, remembering that it was a prime selling strategy to connect with the customer on a personal level.

"Oh yeah," Jacobs eagerly prodded.

"Yeah, but she hasn't come to her senses, yet. She's still in that overly optimistic young stage where everything comes up roses. She has this job that she's totally not right for, but she's too enthusiastic to see it. "

"I totally get you, man. Nubile girls are so naïve."

"Exactly," Walter blurted out, relieved that he had found someone unexpectedly to vent to, "She's working for this big time fashion magazine. She's totally out of place; they are going to eat her alive."

The next aisle over, Henry was seething in fury. Wasn't a boyfriend supposed to be supportive of his girlfriend? And it was Betty they were talking about, it should have been easy. Betty was one of the strongest, most resilient women he had ever come across. He knew for a fact that she was doing a superb job; all the women gossiped in jealousy and frustration at her ability to juggle her work and Daniel's growing respect and sisterly affections for his executive assistant. Where did this guy come off?

"We are so on the same wavelength, Walter. You obviously get where I'm coming from, you're a woman savvy man. So, I completely trust you to help me find the perfect television," Jacobs redirected, sensing Henry's growing wrath, "I want my television to be like the perfect woman. I mean, if you are going to invest in some serious bucks, you want a high return."

Walter belted out an uproarious laugh, snorting at the end. Amused by the man's obvious denseness, Jacob's could not curb his impish tendency and pushed further.

"You know what, Walter? You seem like a smart man. Pick out a TV that reminds me of your gal. A man like you must have a high quality lady."

Walter heaved his chest is pride and looked around the aisle. After a few moments of contemplation, he let out a haughty cry of triumph.

"I'd spring for the Magnavox Prio Classic," he declared, giving the set a pat, "It has a flat screen, which the ladies love, but it's got a wide back."

"Oh, so your lady has a little junk in the trunk, does she, Walter?"

"You know it," Walter chortled, "The wider base in combination with the lower brand name means the set will be cheaper. Now, it's a few years old—it's about to go off the market for being out of style. So I'd knock down the price of course; anything for a favorite customer."

This is what he thought of Betty?!? "Cheap," "lower brand name," "out of style"? This was the type of guy Betty was with?

Something inside Henry snapped. The blood in his veins turned ice cold, and he grew dizzy from all the blood rushing to his skull. His heart forged with his head to fill his body with such intense rage he began shaking violently. He desperately fumbled with his shirt collar; he could not breathe. He had to get out of there.

"You've got to be kidding me," he yelled out in aggravation, rushing past with such force he nearly knocked Walter over.

The air outside was heavy and thick, as dewy drops had begun to fall. Henry stood outside, getting drenched, as the rain practically sizzled upon touching his flushed skin. It was as if the weather was expressing what Henry had struggled to admit all these weeks—that he was sad, that he was in pain, that he was irate with the world.

"Jesus, Henry, get under here would you," Jacobs yelled over the head-splitting thunder, tugging his friend to covered protection.

"Thanks for leaving me there. I had to finagle my way out of buying an overpriced piece of junk from lame ass Wally in there."

"Sure he's a lame ass? You were getting pretty friendly with him,' Henry spat out.

"I was just trying to cover our asses, Henry. You left me in a bit of a bind," Jacobs explained softly, hurt by his friend's assault.

"Well you left me out to dry. What was with the attack on Betty? What did she ever do to you?"

"I wasn't attacking her! I was just trying to get some info out of him for you."

"Well I already knew he was a jerk. I just didn't realize you were, too."

Jacobs reeled back as if he had been slapped in the face.

"What are you talking about? What did I do?"

"You just stood there while he talked about her. Hell, you encouraged it!"

"What could I do, Hen? He has the right to talk about her. She's his girlfriend…"

"Well, she shouldn't be!"

The sheer brutality of his words shocked both Jacobs and Henry into temporary submission. As people ignorantly walked passed them, Henry desperately tried to collect himself. But it was too late. His body hummed and trembled from the intense rage permeating beneath the surface.

"All my life I have tried to do the right thing, even if it was the most difficult. I have tried to be the upstanding guy, the gentleman, often to the detriment of my own happiness," Henry explained softly, but tersely, determined to recollect his composure.

"Yes, Walter came first. And my mind is telling me to step aside, proper decorum calls for it. But, did you hear him in there? He claimed her as his "prize"; he compared her to a cheap television. This is Betty we are talking about! She is not a woman to be objectified, she's different….she's special."

He stopped to catch his breath after feeling any self-control he had mustered dissolve the instant he thought of HER. Silently, he pleaded with Jacobs to understand, to tell him he was right, to support him. But he was met with two darting eyes, painfully empty as they tried in vain to garner any empathy. Deep down, Henry knew this was impossible—for all the great qualities his friend bestowed, his Achilles' heel had always been his weakness for aesthetics. And suddenly, the idea of his best friend's sharing the same insensitivity towards women with Walter, made him convulse in repulsion.

"Forget it. I forgot who I was talking to. Look, frankly I could care less if you get me. From now on, just stay out of my business. Because, like Hell I'm just going to stand here idly…"

With one last scornful look, Henry sharply turned around and began to walk away. Shaken by the ferocity of Henry's implications, for once, Jacobs had no witty comeback. In fact, there was only one thing he could think of to say.

"Henry…" he yelled, the richness of his emotion being washed away in the torrent downpour enshrouding him.

But Henry was gone, leaving only the sharp, forceful beads of rain pelting the pavement in heated defiance to answer.

-:-:-:-

**Stage 3: Bargaining**

Hours had past, the rain had died down, but Henry's fury had yet to dissipate. He had walked around the city in a meaningless haze, trying to wrap his head around everything that had happened.

He barely knew Betty. Why was he getting so worked up over her? They had had a few brief encounters, but nothing since Halloween. She had been nice to him, sweet even, but nothing overtly sexual or flirty. The numbers and facts just did not add up, for once, they had in fact failed him. He was a man of logic, but what he was feeling was more truthful than anything he had ever known. The chemistry was there; he felt it deep in his stomach.

Henry was so caught up in his thoughts; he answered his cell without even registering it.

"Where the hell are you?"

"Huh?"

"Damnit, Henry, snap out of it. I let you have your asshole moment, but I'm still your best friend, and you will respect me enough to answer my questions. Especially when I'm trying to cover your ass."

Hearing Jacobs's stern voice snapped Henry out of his reverie.

_Crap_.

He had completely blocked out how malicious he was to his best friend. Another problem he had to fix, but he did not have the energy to do it. Not today.

"Oh. I'm in a taxi."

"Are you coming back to work, finally? The boss has been riding me all day asking where you are."

"Well, no, not exactly…"

The phone was silent for a beat, and Henry could picture Jacobs banging his head on his cubicle.

"Do I even want to know?"

"I'm still in Queens. I'm going to Betty's house," he mumbled sheepishly.

Another beat.

"Tell me the address. And after all this shit, I better get laid tonight."

-:-:-:-

The street was adorned in a plethora of deep browns, burnt oranges, and vivid yellows. And it made Jacobs slightly nauseous.

"It's like the 70s went bulimic and threw up all over this street."

Jacobs paced the sidewalk, shaking his head in disbelief. He had arrived shortly after Henry had and was still trying to grasp the fact that he was being caught in a neighborhood that appeared to worship garden gnomes and pink plastic flamingos.

"You know this is stalking, right," Jacobs continued, tapping his foot on the pavement like an angry father who had just caught his son frying ants with a magnifying glass.

"Oh, stop with the disciplinary act, Jacobs. I have a good reason for being here."

"I'm dying to know."

"I'm going to tell Betty about what Walter said."

Jacobs stared at his friend, hoping to see a glimpse of humor in his friend's expression. But the stony expression that talked back to him said that Henry was dead serious.

"Okay, this is now officially an intervention" he declared, grabbing Henry's arm and forcing him to follow behind him. Still running on adrenaline, Henry fought back, escaping from Jacobs's clutches and pushing him into a gate.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Henry? You've completely lost it."

"She deserves to know!"

"No, she doesn't. What good could possibly come out of telling her that her boyfriend is a douche bag?"

"SHE'LL CUT HIM LOOSE!"

"Um, _excuse me_. Could you, like, shut up? I can't hear my soaps with you two yapping out here, and _Vidas de Fuego_ is on."

The two men whipped their heads around towards where the voice was coming from. Standing on the porch of the house facing them was a twenty-something woman dressed in apparel that could only be described as loud. Jacobs jaw dropped slightly at the sight of her low-cut, leopard print shirt while Harry couldn't help smirk at how she wobbled in her platforms.

"We're sorry, ma'am. But we're looking for Betty Suarez," Henry blurted, ignoring the deadly gaze Jacobs was shooting at him.

It was the woman's turn to take a step back and observe the two men. Cocking her head to one side, she laughed at their conservative attire and stiff postures.

"Are you from Immigration, or something," she asked in her thick, New York accent. "You can tell me. I'm Gina Gambaro; I'm a friend of the family."

"Yeah, and I shop at Wal-Mart," Jacobs muttered under his breath, not falling for the woman's beauty-pageant smile.

Shooting his friend a warning look, Henry replied, "Um, yes we are ma'am. We are responding to an urgent call from Ms. Suarez. Do you know if she's returned from work, yet? It's imperative that we talk to her."

Gina smiled sweetly as she swaggered down the steps towards the men. "No, she ain't at home," she sad in an overly saccharine nature, thumbing Henry's tie suggestively, "but, like I said, I'm most willing to assist you in _any _way possible."

"If you could just tell us when you think she'll be home, that would be great," he responded, gingerly extracting her hand.

Put off by his detached manner, Gina dropped her nice-girl act, whipping out her nail file and turned to leave. "Look, she ain't coming home. She's already left for some hoity toity hotel in the city."

Henry slumped his shoulders in defeat. He could not catch a break today if his life depended on it.

"Not like she's going to have any fun or anything. I saw her boyfriend storm out in a little huff about an hour ago. That girl is hopeless—who goes to a hotel for the weekend by themselves?"

Henry's ears perked at Gina's latest revelation. _She went alone! _Sighing in relief, he allowed himself to smile.

"Thank you so much for your information ma'am. We'll try again some other time."

Rolling her eyes at the obviously bi-polar agent, Gina just waved her nail file in recognition and teetered back into the house. As soon as she was safely out of ear shot, Henry jumped up and let out a small shout of victory. Unable to contain his sudden wave of happiness, he enveloped his friend in a bear hug.

"For the millionth time today, Henry, STOP WRINKLING THE DOLCE," Jacobs gasped, struggling to get free.

"Don't you see? This is perfect; she must have gotten into a fight with her boyfriend! Where's my phone, I have to hail a taxi…"

Too excited to maintain his composure, Henry clumsily rifled through his pockets searching for his phone. Finally, he found and, grasping it so hard it popped out of his hand, into the air…and finally, in Jacobs's hand.

"Hand me the phone, Jacobs. We shouldn't be wasting time."

"Hell no, I'm not giving you anything but a piece of my mind," he retorted, quickly stuffing the phone into the inside pocket of his blazer. "Have you lost your mind? You cannot seriously still be considering telling Betty about Walter after this."

"Of course I am! Even more so!"

"Henry, they had a fight. Let it go. Nature's already taking its course," Jacobs gently.

"I made a bargain with the powers that be, Jacobs. If they gave me a break, any opportunity to have a chance with Betty, I wouldn't mess it up like last time. This is my chance. If I tell Betty about how disrespectful Walter was, she'll leave him and be with me."

"Henry, don't do this man," Jacobs pleaded, shaking his head in infinite sadness.

"Look, what is it going to take you to give me my phone," Henry spat out, starting to lose control, "A date? Just give me my phone, and I'll put in a good word with you with Andrea in makeup up at Mode."

With a distressing look in his eyes, Jacobs brushed past his friend. Lifting the lid of one of the curb-side garbage cans, he purposefully threw the phone in.

"I did that for you because you aren't sane enough to do it yourself. Henry, you made a deal with the devil and you are trying to suck me in with you."

For the second time that day, Henry lost control. _Who the Hell does Jacobs think he is?_ He was supposed to be his best friend, and instead, he was acting all high-and-mighty.

"Like you're perfect, Jacobs. Get off your high horse—you're one of the biggest womanizers I've ever met."

"You're absolutely right. I am a complete asshole when it comes to women. But that's me. We're talking about you, Henry. You're the guy who helps little old ladies cross the street, the guy who holds open doors to strangers, the guy who buys enough Girl Scouts cookies to add three inches to each thigh. You're that guy, and you can still be that guy if you just stop and think about what you are contemplating doing!"

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Henry knew his friend had only his best interest at heart. But, in his current state of irrationality, he just did not care. Because if he listened to his friend, it meant giving up on Betty, again. Jacobs wanted him to be the upstanding one, and Henry hated him for that.

"Well Honorable Henry ended up losing Betty to a jerk who sells microwaves for a living."

Jacobs stood there dumbfounded, frantically trying to think of a way to break through to his friend. But Henry stood there so stubbornly, his chest slightly heaving in anger, that for the first time since they had become friends, Jacobs knew he wasn't going to be able to influence him in any way. He was Henry's best friend, and he couldn't think of a way to save him from the inevitable train wreck he was putting himself in front of. And that is what hurt him most—he had failed at being Henry's best friend, the only thing he had been really good at.

Slowly, drooping in defeat, Jacobs dug through the garbage and retrieved Henry's cell phone. With a heavy heart, he extended his hand in an act of defeat.

"Let me just say one final thing, and then I'll shut up," he begged, "Is this is way you want to win Betty's heart, by breaking it first? Only God knows why, but Walter is her _boyfriend_. Sure, they got into a fight, but she obviously must have feelings for the guy. And from what I've heard around the office and from today, Betty's life isn't exactly ideal. She's the butt of the joke at the office water cooler, she has hideously gossipy neighbors, and apparently she's being investigated by Immigration. So, do you really want to be the one to add to the mess and rock her world by telling her that her boyfriend talks trash behind her back? That he uses her as a selling gimmick? You want to be that guy who preys upon vulnerability and insecurity to get the girl? More importantly, do you want to Betty to be with that type of guy?"

Something in the way Jacobs looked at him made Henry take pause. For a split second, he saw himself through his friend's eyes. He saw this wallowing, angry, spiteful version of himself and it scared him. If he made that phone call and took that taxi to find Betty, he would forever be that guy, to himself and to Betty. But at least he'd be something to Betty, instead of the nothing he was now.

Hesitantly, and with shaking hands, he took the phone from Jacobs's palm. His fingers, trembling, he dialed the cab company.

"Yes, I need a taxi back to Manhattan…"

He paused.

"…it's getting late, and I need to go home."

**-:-:-:-**

**Stage 4: Depression**

Henry's head was splitting. As his temples throbbed from the shrillness within, he begged for the pain to stop.

_Oh, wait. It's the phone._

Thrusting his arm out, he blindly foraged for his cell. After the fifth ring, he answered.

"What the hell took you so long?"

_Jacobs. Great_. Groaning, Henry rolled himself over onto his back, staring at the ceiling. Wiping the tiredness from his face, he yawned into the phone.

"Give me a break. It's early; I just woke up."

"Henry, it's 10 o'clock. You mean to tell me you're still in bed! Open up your blinds, get off you ass, and go groom yourself. I'm picking you up in half an hour."

Still weary from sleep, Henry struggled to concentrate. Edging himself closer to the end of the bed, but by no means rising from it, he struggled to look at the alarm clock. Jacobs was right, he had slept well into the day.

"What are you talking about? Where are you going?"

"_We're_ going Buffalo to see my family. It's Thanksgiving, Henry, you can't be alone."

"Sure I can, it's what I'm currently doing."

"You've been moping around for a week. You haven't come to work, apparently you haven't gotten out of bed, and I'm frightened to think you haven't showered, either. Dejection does nothing for your complexion but give you wrinkles and acne."

Too down to laugh, Henry just made a face at the phone. Still, feeling a bit ashamed at being called out for his recent behavior, he forced himself out of his bed and stumbled into the kitchen.

"I think I wear misery quite well, thank you."

"Sure you do, you look like a little puppy dog. I happen to have a cousin who will be there who loves that kind of shtick."

This time, Henry allowed himself a small laugh. Out of practice from his usual routine, he stumbled around the kitchen trying to figure out what to do.

"If it's okay with you, buddy, I think I'll pass. I'm just not up to it, yet."

"Well, just for the record, I tried," the voice on the other end sighed, "Just promise me one thing? You'll get out of the house today because you've pretty much mastered the 'crying into your pillow' stage. If you keep it up, the only thing left to do is eat ice cream in your pajamas and watch _Beaches_. And I can't be your friend if it comes to that."

The two exchanged goodbyes, with Henry promising to call him over the weekend to assure his friend his muscles had not atrophied and he was alive and well. The silence that followed the hang up was deafening, and it dawned on Henry how completely alone he was right then. Picking up his phone, he contemplated calling his family back in Tucson, but quickly changed his mind knowing his mother would immediately catch onto his sadness. Defeated, he returned to his bed, too low to contemplate leaving his apartment.

His stomach woke him hours later, growling in anger at being so woefully neglected. Cursing, Henry once again hobbled out of bed, taking notice that it was pitch black outside. Rifling through his drawers, he searched in vain for something to preoccupy his mind and fill his stomach. But he hadn't been grocery shopping in a week, and all he had left was a jar of Jiffy and beer.

_God, I am pathetic. I don't even have the ice cream required for chick flicks._

His eyes travelled to the case if beer in his fridge. For fleeting moment he considered opening a bottle.

_Henry, if you drink alone on Thanksgiving, you're on your way to being an alcoholic._

He withdrew his hand.

_So just go drink with somebody._

Grabbing his keys and his jacket, the door to his apartment slammed in fortitude.

**-:-:-:-**

The mahogany bar felt smooth and cool underneath his hand. Flushed from a combination of the cold, crisp winter air outside and his nervousness to be caught in a bar without Jacobs by his side, Henry delicately took off his hat and sat down.

"What'll you have," the bartender asked.

"Um, I'm not sure, actually," Henry apologized, trying to think of a drink quick.

"Scotch on the rocks," a voice from the other end slurred.

Henry turned his head and was shocked to see Daniel Meade, the son of Bradford Meade and Betty's boss at Mode.

"Um, excuse me?"

"Scotch on the rocks. It'll get you good and drunk quick, if that's what you are looking for."

It only took a second for Henry to think this over.

"Yeah, that's pretty much the point. I'll have what he said."

Daniel motioned Henry over to sit near him, and still taken aback by the sight of him, Henry obliged automatically.

"I'm Daniel, Daniel Meade," Daniel slurred, extending his hand, scoffing after uttering his surname.

"Yeah, I know. I work for you, actually. Well, for your father, but I've worked with you, is what I'm trying to say," Henry stammered, tripping on his words. Pausing for a second, he closed his eyes and took a moment to regain his nerve. "I'm Henry."

"Henry! Henry! Of course, I love you, Henry," he replied exuberantly, sloshing his drink all over the place.

Henry smiled awkwardly, and nodded his head towards the bartender who had just handed him his drink.

"You don't remember me at all, do you?"

"No," Daniel admitted, shaking his head violently, "but in my defense I don't think I'll remember much of anything after tonight."

The two fell into relaxed silence as Daniel downed his drinks while Henry sipped his. It was just what Henry needed—mute contemplation with quiet company.

"So why are you here on Thanksgiving," Daniel muttered, breaking the silence, "women problems?"

"Something like that."

Daniel scoffed bitterly, beckoning to the bartender to serve him another round. "You know, everything anyone ever tells you is bullshit," he said sadly, swishing the last of the liquor in his glass around the bottom, "I'm Daniel Meade, everybody knows me. I say my name, and a hundred women want to go home with me. Except for the one I want. And you know the sick irony of it all? The reason why she won't be with me is _because_ I'm Daniel Meade. Playboy, commitment phobic, Daniel Meade…ha. Well, here's to me," he spat bitterly, downing the last few drops.

Not knowing how to comfort the broken man in front of him, Henry raised his glass in salute and took a sip of his scotch.

"We're quite the pair, Henry and Daniel. Daniel and Henry. Unlucky in love."

Smiling sadly, Henry clinked glasses with the younger Meade and downed the last of his drink.

"Christ, I'm pathetic. Even my assistant has a boyfriend."

"Betty?"

"No, Wilbur."

"Walter."

"No, Betty. Who's Walter?"

"Betty, your assistant! She has her boyfriend, Walter, not Wilbur."

"Oh, yeah," Daniel agreed, clearly too drunk to understand the exchange that had gone on. "Wait a minute, I said that wrong. I don't mean to say Betty shouldn't have a boyfriend. Cause she should; she should have a great one."

"She should," Henry murmured, talking more to himself than to Daniel.

"I mean Betty deserves the best. She's…well, she's special, you know?"

Henry nodded and took a large gulp of his second round.

"Lord, knows she's had to put up with so much at the office. And, I know I don't make her life any easier. She deserves a little happiness, no, I take that back; she deserves a lot of happiness."

Henry just stared at his drink, praying for the strength to get through the conversation.

"You knew her boyfriend's name. Have you met him?"

"Oh no," Henry lied lamely, hoping he came off as convincible.

"Neither have I. Amanda, the receptionist, has once. She said he was such a dweeb. And that he sounded like he had a jellybean stuck up his nose."

It was at that moment Henry decided he loved Daniel and would for life.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. That's a terrible thing to say. I'm not usually like this," Daniel rambled, pausing for a moment and blinking, attempting to gain enough sobriety to get his point across. "I just meant that it sounds like Betty is worthy of a lot more. Someone as happy, funny, uh..."

"Charming."

"Spirited."

"Determined."

"Exactly. She should have her counterpoint."

Henry felt his chest tighten with such an intense pain he let his glass crash onto the bar, sending the russet liquid sloshing everywhere.

"Sorry for you making me listen to me babble. I'm not really with it. Betty's an intelligent girl; she knows what is best for her. And as long as she is happy, then that's all that matters, isn't?"

And then Henry got it. It was like the fog had cleared from his mind, and everything became clear.

"Bartender, another crotch socks for me and my new friend Henry."

"No, it's okay," Henry said softly, rising from his stool and gathering her stuff, "I'm good. But thanks for the talk."

With one last pat on the shoulder, and a request to the bartender to see Daniel got home safely, Henry exited the bar as quietly as he had entered.

**-:-:-:-**

**Stage 5: Acceptance**

It was snowing outside as Henry walked the streets of Manhattan. The air was crisp as Mother Nature covered New York with her frozen, plump tears. The trees sparkled from their ice-stained branches, and the city was peacefully calm, entranced by the spell of winter's first snow. It was almost a religious experience, purifying and healing his soul.

Daniel was right—all that mattered was that Betty was happy. For the past month he had been so caught up with how _he_ felt, what _he_ thought was best for Betty, that he completely forgot about why he was so upset. Betty. The vibrant, energetic, mesmerizing woman he had fallen for. Like her boss had so duly noted, Betty Suarez was a sharp girl. She knew how to take care of herself, she knew what she wanted, and she'd know how to handle Walter when the time came for her to do so.

This wasn't about her. This wasn't about him. It was about the _two of them_. He wanted to be a _them_, in whatever capacity that meant. So, he would wait, bide his time being friends until she gave him a signal that she was ready for more. And when she did, he'd be ready.

It was morning in Manhattan. Always the numbers man, Henry noted he had walked his fourteenth aimless walk. But this time, at the end, the sun shone bright.

**-:-:-:-**


	3. One Is the Loneliest Number

**Synopsis: **The evolution of Mode's newest potential super couple, Henry and Betty from Henry's POV. The third chapter centers on events that take place in Episode 10, "Fake Plastic Snow."

**Author's Note: **Per usual, much love, gratitude and worship to the LJ, and TWoP families. A special thanks to MaddieStJ, who has accepted the daunting challenge of being my beta-er and provides me with great conversation. To all the other H/B shippers and writers who are sources for inspiration. And last, but definitely not least, thanks to all my reviewers (even my anonymous ones—Teri and Illyria, to name some of the sweetest) who make my day, week, month with your support and encouragement!

**------------------------------------------------------------------**

**Chapter Three: One (Is the Loneliest Number)**

_Fact: According the latest New York census (2003), the U.S. Census Bureau reports that 1,564,798 people inhabit the city of Manhattan. _

-:-:-:-

There were 1,564,798 people living in Manhattan. While some found this number daunting, Henry saw it as just another thing to love about the borough. Ever the optimist, it meant there were 1,564,797 people besides him to offer friendship, to provide laughter, and to invoke tears. Being part of the "City that Never Slept" insured that he would, dreaming contently, knowing that he by no means was alone. Particularly, around this time of year.

With Thanksgiving weeks behind him, Henry's life had been going at a ridiculously hectic pace. Christmas was edging closer with each passing day, and he frantically shuffled his priorities to steal precious moments for himself, frozen moments in time where he could breathe in the holiday spirit. He got off the subway two stops earlier to admire the store shops' extravagant window displays. He escaped to Macy's during lunch for a peppermint hot chocolate to sip while he watched lovingly as kids stood anxiously in line, waiting to have their moment with Santa Claus. And he made sure his pockets were filled with one-dollar bills in order to exchange "God Bless" and "Merry Christmas" with the Salvation Army bell ringers and the carolers that entertained him on his way home.

Like every year, he was caught up with Christmas. Unfortunately for Henry, work and Betty were about to catch up with him.

-:-:-:-

"Oh, my God! Look at this, just look at this!"

Henry shot up from his desk, startled. December marked the end of Meade Publication's fiscal year, and that meant the third floor was Hell epitomized for all its employees. Most workers were pulling 100 hours a week since Thanksgiving, more for those who were hoping to take a Christmas vacation. As the staff made their way into the last couple of weeks before the New Year, everyone was jittery, shaking from a combination of caffeine overdosing, exhaustion, and anxiety.

"What happened? Did your computer crash? Did you not save your work? Jacobs, I told you, you have to hit Control S every five minutes," Henry reprimanded, standing over the cubicle wall that he and his best friend shared, not bothering to divert his eyes from the large file of financial records he was holding.

"Would you get your mind out of the techno gutter for just one god damn minute and look at me? I'm having a nervous breakdown here," Jacobs snarled, choking on the last few words.

Hearing the panic in his friend's voice, Henry relinquished his grasp on his work, and forced himself to focus on Jacobs.

"I'm sorry, J. You have my undivided attention."

Hearing this, Jacobs allowed his shoulders to relax, and he swiveled his chair to face Henry head on. The two gazed at each other silently and impatiently, each waiting for the other to speak.

"Well," they uttered in exasperated unison.

"Say something," they declared emphatically, again in perfect harmony.

"My face!"

"Your…face?"

"Yes, my face!"

"What's wrong with your face?"

"Are your glasses fogged up, Four Eyes? I'm deformed!"

This caused Henry to take pause. Barely containing his laughter, he theatrically whipped off his glasses, cleaning them with exaggerated swirls them before returning them to his face. As he expected, Jacobs was immaculate. The building could come crashing down around them, and his friend would still find the time to pleat his Prada trousers ("Dolce is so last month, Henry"), straighten his Givenchy tie ("Cranberry is this winter's version of pink"), and button his triple-breasted blazer ("Only fashion rejects do double breasted. Oh, um…but you work it, Hen…"). Because to Jacobs, there wouldn't be anything worse than risk someone finding his crushed corpse committing a post-mortem fashion faus pax.

"I have no idea what you are talking about, J. Per usual, you're sooo pretty," Henry teased, relieved to have a few moments not concerning cash flows and retained earnings.

"Are you fucking with me, Henry? Firemen could use me to soften the blow when they throw babies and kittens out of fiery 10th story windows. My eyes are that puffy!"

Emitting a low moan, Jacobs hid his face in his hands, muttering curses under his breath. "I swear every fucking December Meade is responsible for my youthful ruin. Last year I got two grey hairs and the beginnings of crow's feet."

"Well maybe if you didn't slack off 334 days of the year, the last 31 wouldn't be so painful," Henry gently pointed out.

"You can't see it, but I'm giving you THE LOOK," Jacobs retorted, still buried in his hands, "now, stop being a smart ass and get me the tube from my bottom drawer, will you?"

Henry sighed impatiently, but decided to humor his troubled friend. Collecting himself, he made his way around to Jacob's cubicle and maneuvered his way to the desk.

"Um, J," Henry whispered, a ruddy pink beginning to flower his cheeks, "is there something you want to tell me?"

Jacobs whipped his head up, haughtily grabbing the tube of Preparation-H from Henry's grasp.

"Oh, please, Henry. I saw in _Miss Congeniality _that hemorrhoid cream reduces the bags from underneath the eyes," he explained distractedly, placing liberal amounts on the offending areas.

For the second time in a matter of minutes, Henry struggled to hide his amusement.

"Um, J? You know, that's an urban myth, right?"

Jacobs froze mid application and glared at Henry in his mirror.

"You actually are supposed to use tea bags or cucumbers," Henry blurted out apologetically, "It's just something I know. You know, growing up with two sisters and all."

Jacobs continued to glower icily at his friend, causing Henry to shift in uncomfortable silence.

"Yo! Working Hard and Hardly Working," a booming bass reverberated in their direction.

The two men looked up to see their supervisor, Robert Drake, heading their way. A bulky man of little words, what words he did choose to utter were always cacophonous and aggressive. Bulky and muscular, rumors circled around the office that Drake was an ex-Marine who was only hired because he could yell his coworkers and subordinates into submission and obedience. Very rarely did any of them actually seem him crunching numbers, and never did they see him smile. Despite all this, Henry had respect for the man, and because of his admirable work effort, Drake returned the sentiment.

"Is he talking to us," Jacobs whispered to Henry, pasting a smile across his face.

Henry answered by playfully elbowing his pal in the ribs. "What can we do for you, Boss?"

"Yes, what can we do," Jacobs echoed, his voice trembling in fear.

"_You_, Jacobs," Drake bellowed, his tone forcing Jacobs to shrink away, "can get your pretty boy ass back to your computer and finish those statements of cash flows I've been asking for. I want to see calluses on those fingertips by the end of the day."

Jacobs visibly paled at the thought.

"And _you_," Drake barked, turning his attention to Henry, "I've got something special just for you. The Nancy Boys up at _MODE_ are planning their annual Christmas party. Two weeks before The Books need to be closed, and they threaten to muck it all up with a hoity-toity shindig. Bloody gits, I tell you. They've got $500. Period. I need you to keep on them, make sure they tow the line."

Behind Drake and Henry, Jacobs writhed in his chair, letting out a quiet strangled sound. Not one for theatrics, Henry kept his footing, but felt very much like his tortured friend.

"Are you sure you want ME to do the job, Sir?"

"I'll do it if Henry doesn't feel up to it," Jacobs eagerly volunteered.

"Yes, _Henry_," his supervisor began, silencing any more outbursts with a menacing glare, "you are my guy. _Some _people would get too distracted by the half-naked models and the mistletoe antics to keep focused. Besides, between your overproduction in November and your work this month, you've earned a little break."

Henry felt his hopes wilt. He knew that "a little break" from Drake was a huge deal, and one of the biggest compliments he could ever hope to receive. There was no way he could ask for a reassignment now. Smiling faintly, he nodded his head in hesitant acceptance.

"Good, now get to work," Drake commanded, slapping Henry hard on the back, "and Jesus, Jacobs, keep your feminine problems to yourself, would you? Some things are just supposed to be between yourself and God, and I'm not sure God is all that interested."

Realizing belatedly that he was still holding the tube of hemorrhoid cream in his hand, Jacobs blushed feverishly, thrusting the embarrassment into the rubbish bin. Henry held his hands up in surrender, backing away from his friend as if he was a crazed animal.

"Okay, now let's not get all Scrooge-like. Let's look on the bright side, J…You certainly made an impression with the boss," he said, failing miserably at keeping a straight face.

Jacobs gripped the arms of his chair till his knuckles turned white.

"I _abhor _you."

Laughing all the way, Henry made a dash to the elevator, hearing the high pitched tantrum of his friend sneak its way through the crack of the closing elevator door.

-:-:-:-

The elevator was packed with Meade employees, and Henry couldn't be happier. The crowd would buy him some time and distract him. Because, while Jacobs was choking on his envy, Henry would have done anything to switch places.

_Betty._

He hadn't thought of her in weeks. Well, that wasn't all together true, but save for a few fleeting smiles he revealed when something reminded him of her, he just hadn't had the time. After coming to terms with his depression and his aspirations for a relationship with Betty at Thanksgiving, Henry had anxiously returned to work. He had hoped to find an excuse to go and see her, or vice versa, but days went by and nothing happened. Sometimes it was due to his lack of nerve, but mostly it was due to the fury caused by the end of the Fourth Quarter.

Now the moment had finally arrived. And yet, after all this time to prepare what he was going to say and gather his courage, Henry found himself exceedingly unready. The events that had followed their last meeting in the elevator had indescribably humbled him, and he was aware, no, he was petrified, that she might not want to see him.

It had been one lunch a month and a half ago. She had a boyfriend. And still, he wanted her. The butterflies flitting around in his stomach were irrefutable evidence of this.

The chime dinged, signifying to all riders that they had arrived on the _MODE_ floor. Dazedly, Henry stepped out and turned on auto-pilot. His mind was whirring a mile a minute, his heart too, as he desperately thought of a suitable greeting. What did he say to the girl with the bug-eyed boyfriend who he fancied so much he was driven to the point of lunacy, only to be brought to his common senses by of all people, a very drunk but Buddha-like Daniel Meade?

Henry never had the chance to find an appropriate answer. One moment he was lost in his lovesick reverie, the next he was thrown back, choking on little plastic pellets of snow.

"Oh, man! I'm sorry," Henry exclaimed, taken aback from the impact, "I..."

_Crap_.

Standing before him, herself covered in fake plastic snow, was Betty. Spitting out the foul tasting beads, she was too distracted to notice it was him. Henry felt his chest tighten in response to an overwhelming sense of anxiety and desire. Mentally psyching himself up, he adjusted his glasses as a means of gaining composure.

_It's her._

"It's you."

"Henry," she eeked out, her voice high in what he determined to be utter surprise in seeing him, "hi."

Something about the way she looked at him, and the cute little way she adjusted her glasses, gave Henry a boost of confidence he had yet to experience in his dealings with her.

_She adjusted her glasses. Just like I did. This has to be a sign._

"You got a little, um," he uttered, gently reaching out to brush some snow from her hair, "right here…"

He chuckled softly, immensely happy that he had found the sudden nerve to be so daring. He certainly was rewarded; her hair was silky to the touch, eliciting tiny tickles across the pads of his fingers. Henry's breath caught as his palms grow sweaty. Scared that she would feel them, he retracted.

_Steady, Henry. You don't want to embarrass her or yourself._

"Gosh, I'm sorry," he apologized, frowning at his cavalier behavior, "that, that was very unprofessional, uh…"

_Steady, steady. _

"Let me help you clean this up," he offered, beginning to stoop down.

"Oh, no, no, no, don't worry about it. I-," Betty pleaded.

"No, it's okay-"

The two collided again, this time with no snow to lessen the blow.

"Ow!"

Ungracefully, Henry and Betty clung to their heads, rubbing the pain away. Henry felt his nerve begin to dissipate. Being around Betty had turned him back into a gawky, flustering boy rather than the composed man he was so desperately trying to be.

_Just get this over with Henry. And try not to be a complete dork._

"Actually, Betty, you're just the girl I've been looking for."

_Great. She looks absolutely terrified at the thought._

"Oh, no! Um, I'm sure that there are other girls."

"Oh, uh, it's about the party," he pressed further, "I'm supposed to oversee the budget."

_Yeah. Definitely looks thrilled about that._

"So…guess I'll be on top of you for the next couple of days…"

_Oh my God. Did I just really say that? Stupid Henry, stupid. Laugh it off. Maybe she won't catch on._

Betty's eyes opened widely, as she raised her eyebrows in fear.

_Or maybe she will._

"…party wise."

"Oh…right."

"All right," he heard himself blurt out a little too merrily and an octave too high.

"Okay."

He stepped to leave, only to have her follow suit. They tried again. Same results. Laughing to cover up their awkwardness, Henry motioned a third time in what direction he was headed.

"Yeah."

"Sorry."

Henry walked to the end of the hallway, mentally kicking himself with every step. His one chance to set the tone for their relationship, and it was a tongue-tied, stuttering mess. Balling his fists in frustration, he cursed himself.

It was going to take a Christmas miracle for him to fix the clumsy rapport that had developed between them.

-:-:-:-

That night, Henry ventured home on heavy foot and with a heavy heart. He had struggled through the rest of the work day, too distracted by his interaction with Betsy to be of any use. And so he had mustered half-hearted goodbyes to the sleepy-eyed staff and began the trek home.

There were brief reprieves to help soothe his worries. It had snowed all day, and naughty children were being scolded by their mothers for throwing snowballs at passersby. He had managed to find the perfect gift for Jacobs on his way to the train. And the city was glowing in shades of green, gold, red, and white as twinkling lights guided him home. Once again the city he had come to love had managed to fill him with comfort, without anyone uttering a single word.

Henry arrived at his apartment in better spirits. Blindly groping along the wall for the light switch, Henry elegantly dropped his shopping bags next to the door. Still unbundling from the frigid night, he absentmindedly pushed his answering machine to see if he had any well wishers.

"Henry, honey, it's your mother," a sweet, energetic voice rang out, "I just wanted to tell you that it's been unusually cold here at home. Would you believe it's been 50 degrees?"

Henry laughed softly, tenderly brushing his fingers across the machine.

"Anyway, you may want to bring a jacket. Oh, Henry, I can't tell you how excited we are to have our boy coming home for Christmas. That's all; I'm sorry to bother you. I know how busy they keep you this time of year. I just wanted to call and say I love you. Oh…and your father says hello."

The machine beeped to signify its end and began rewinding the tape.

For the first time since he started working at Meade Publications, Henry was going home for an extended Christmas break. The past couple of years Henry had been the rookie, and asking for extra days off during Hell month was simply inconceivable. But weeks of working overtime in November to distract him from his depression had ended up working in his favor. Drake had been so impressed with Henry's increase in productivity that he finally relented and agreed to give Henry a full week off.

_Even without trying, Betty seems to manage to make my life better._

Henry sighed deeply, and shook his head, lost in thought. He had to curb this lingering sadness that was threatening to come to the forefront. Things between Betty and him were uncomfortable, yes, but not unfixable. Their current relationship was the result of being out of practice, rusty from lack of use. All he needed to do was find something that would oil the joints, get the kink out, and soon they could fall back to that content easiness that he had originally enjoyed so much.

_But what?_

Too tired to give it any more conscious thought for the night, Henry gathered up his remaining energy and unpacked the gifts he had purchased that day. Wrapping presents always relaxed him—something about the mindless intricacy of making crisp corners and tying the perfect bow calmed his nerves.

Opening up his tiny front closet, Henry winced at the comparable messy state it was in. Usually it was as organized and tidy as its owner, but the combination of the holidays and late nights at work had left it a little worse for wear.

_Now where did I put the gift wrap? I know it's somewhere…OW!_

Covering his head for protection, Henry tried in vain to avoid the downpour of boxes falling from his top shelf. When the barrage ended, Henry peeked to see the how much damage his apartment had endured.

It was a sight to behold. Platoons of beads, bangles, and balls skated across his floor, dancing their own private ice show. Henry rolled his eyes at his luck and began to clean up the best he can.

And then it hit him. He had the perfect conversation starter in the palms of his hand.

_Go figure. It may not be a miracle, but it's close enough for me._

-:-:-:-

"Hey, Betty."

Henry nervously lifted a box in recognition, causing its contents to shuffle around.

"Ornaments," he explained, clutching the handles to hide his hands from shaking, "I thought I might save you a couple of dollars."

"Thanks, but, uh, the budget's all set. Amanda got us some amazing deals, seems likes a lot of people owe her favors," Betty squeaked out, finishing her sentence in one high-pitched, one-breath, run-on ramble.

She hadn't even bothered to look at him. In fact, she had purposefully turned away from him, pretending to skim her mail. But with the frenetic pace she was whipping through them, Henry knew she was using it as a diversion. And it surprised him how much that hurt. Still, he pressed on.

"So, basically it sounds like you don't even need me."

"Nope."

He was losing her. He had to think of something…fast. Seeing the snow globe on her desk, Henry reverted to his safety net: trivia.

"Hey, did you know the snow inside these was originally particles of gold foil? Sounds beautiful, right?"

Betty allowed herself a small "mmmhmm," but continued her uncharacteristic fascination with the mail. But as Henry shook the globe, he got lost in its dance, forgetting for a moment what the task at hand was and let his guard down.

"You know, I'd never even seen real snow until I got off the plane in New York," he reminisced, more to himself than to her, lost in his memories.

The sweetness in his voice in combination with the surprising revelation finally caused Betty to drop her act, and she stared at him in awe.

"What," she asked, not trying to hide her amazement, "how?"

"Oh, ah, I grew up in the desert. Tucson," he clarified, smiling slightly, "I used to think all snow looked like gold foil till I got here."

Henry gently laughed at his sentimental silliness and looked up to see Betty gazing at him tenderly. It was a blink-and-you'll-miss-it moment, but it meant the world to him. He smiled and handed her back the globe.

"Silly, huh?"

"No, not at all."

It was then that he realized how much he had missed her. Not her smile, not her laugh, not her voice. All of those were delightful, but no, he had missed _Betty_. It was her spirit, her delicacy, her fragility, her silent manner that so effortlessly put him at ease that he had longed for.

For one little moment they shared one perfect smile, and the awkwardness faded away.

"Was that a Christmas gift from somebody?"

"Oh, yeah. Daniel's been leaving me little surprises all week," Betty smiled, gingerly setting her snow globe down, "It's nice to know he cares so much."

Henry thought back to the night he and her boss had drowned their sorrows over glasses of scotch, and he silently chuckled.

The conversation should have ended there, but neither party seemed to want Henry to leave. And so they stood there quietly, their silence loud with the feelings and secrets untold.

"So…"

"So…"

"Where did you find the ornaments? They're really nice," Betty ventured, peering into the box he had laid down.

"Oh, you know, just leftovers from my Christmas tree."

"But there are so many," she exclaimed, picking up handfuls to demonstrate.

"Well, living on the 10th floor in a box-sized apartment really doesn't let me have the size tree I was hoping for."

Betty cocked an eyebrow in curiosity.

"I only managed three ornaments. Any more and it toppled."

His candidness earned him a full-bodied laugh, its warmth filling Henry with joy from head to toe. Both visibly relaxed, happy to have found a pleasant rhythm amongst each other.

"Three ornaments," Betty laughed, sitting down and motioning Henry to do the same, "I'm surprised you bothered at all."

"But you have to! It's tradition."

"Tradition? You usually slaughter miniature trees by adorning them with assorted holiday décor?"

Henry made a teasing face, causing both of them again to burst out in giggles.

"Yes, it just so happens, I do. Decorate the tree, wrap the gifts, and watch Rudolph over a plate of Christmas cookies and hot chocolate."

"I love Rudolph," Betty gushed, her outburst causing him to slightly jump in his seat.

"I mean, it's about an underappreciated, outsider reindeer with a huge nose, who ends up saving the day," she continued, blushing at her excitement, "I guess I always kind of knew how he felt."

Henry knew exactly how she felt, and her sincere disclosure only made his admiration for her stronger. The two exchanged knowing smiles, and he had never felt so close to her before.

"Well, I like the Claymation Rudolph best," she continued, breaking the spell.

"You know, they did that with puppets. They called it Animagic," Henry rambled, waving his hands dramatically.

Betty smiled a knowing smile. "Just something you know?"

"Yeah," Henry confessed, staring down at hands, mortified that he couldn't contain his nerdy outbursts, "I have this weird talent for remembering useless facts."

"Oh, no, it's not useless…it's…it's cute."

Henry's heart stopped.

"Thanks."

It was the closest thing she had ever said that could be considered flirtation. Regardless of whether or not it was her intent, he decided to take it that way. Suddenly, the air seemed to grow thick, and Henry had trouble concentrating over the rapid beating of his heart.

_I knew it. It's still there._

That spark. The little flickers of hope, want, and wishing that were ignited full blown with one declaration. There was no turning back from here. As much as he had tried to ignore it, as much as he convinced himself that being her friend would just be okay, he knew now that it would never do. Because there was no denying The Spark.

Slowly drawing closer, Henry extended a hand, "I've been meaning to ask, is this-"

"No," Betty yelped, jumping up from her seat nervously, "uh, it's just holly. Holly."

And suddenly the embers went out, his intimacy a cool splash of sudden reality.

"You know what? I need to get back to work, so you should probably go."

"Uh, okay," he acquiesced, slightly confused at her sudden nervousness. He had meant to ask her about mistletoe as a segueway to a childhood story he thought she would enjoy, but apparently his physical closeness proved too unnerving.

"All right."

Henry rose, unsure of just what had exactly happened and fumbling on how to fix it, "Uh, so I guess I'll see you at the party?"

"Mmmhmm," she squeaked, bobbing her head incessantly.

"Okay…"

As Henry made his way to the elevators, he tried desperately to calculate when exactly he had crossed a line. Despite this setback with Betty, he realized that he was deflated, but by no means defeated. As long as The Spark was there, he'd keep trying. So, there was only one thing to do.

_I had better make one hell of an impression at the party._

-:-:-:-

The door was ajar when Jacobs got to Henry's apartment. It surprised him—Henry was not the type who forgot to lock his apartment door, much less leave it open.

"Hello….Henry?"

Slowly, Jacobs peeled back the door, and a sudden wave of panic ran over him. The place was an absolute mess. Ornaments lay scattered around, papers were everywhere, shoes were hanging from furniture corners, and clothes lay rumpled on the floor. _Heh, even robbers know better than to touch Henry's wardrobe_, he thought at first, followed by a _Holy fuck, robbers!_

He rummaged through his coat in vain for his cell phone, but there just too many pockets for his panicked soul. Assuring himself that once he got out of here he'd go straight to a payphone and call the cops, he turned to leave, not seeing the firm hand about to graze his shoulder.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAH! I SWEAR TO GOD, I HAVE MACE SOMEWHERE IN THESE POCKETS, AND I'M NOT AFRAID TO USE IT ONCE I FIND IT," he screamed, clamping his eyes shut.

"What are you talking about?"

Jacobs cautiously opened his eyes to see Henry standing there in his boxers and very little else, save for his signature glasses and black dress socks.

"Shit, Hen, warn a guy," he growled, once again clamping his eyes closed.

Normally, Henry would be amused. But not tonight. Tonight was _MODE_'s Christmas soirée, and to him, his best chance to impress Betty. To work within the allotted budget, there were no "+1s," meaning she was sure to be Walter-less. No "plus one" translated to just the two of them, and the perfect chance for Henry to make his move.

"What were you rambling on about," he asked, not really caring about the answer but trying to be polite.

"It's a pigsty in here! You're the guy who folds his underpants—you don't do sty. I thought someone had broken in."

"Hey! I'm sure a lot people do that," Henry shot back, dragging Jacobs behind him, "Now, I'm having a bit of a crisis. Help me."

He stopped abruptly, causing Jacobs to crash into him. Rolling his eyes, Henry moved sideways, motioning with his arms at the massive amounts of attire sprawled out across his bed. Jacobs stood there in a mixture of wonder and confusion before it finally hit home what his friend was asking his help for.

"Seriously?"

"Yes, and don't make me regret it."

"Wait," Jacobs started, cocking an eyebrow and grinning madly, "is all this for a girl? "

Henry just stared back impatiently.

"Oh, my little Henry is growing up! He wants to change himself just to impress a chick! I'm so proud," he dramatically gushed, put a hand to his heart and using the other to wipe a fake tear from his eye.

Henry pink cheeks grew full-blown red, and he mumbled incoherently. He was beginning to wonder why he had called Jacobs for help. But as Jacobs began rummaging through his closet, carefully scrutinizing each piece, he felt his nerves calm, and he was grateful for his friend coming over. Jacobs was not the most articulate person, but his words and actions were always purposefully chosen. And in a world of frauds, fakes, and phonies, Henry had come to realize how truly invaluable Jacobs was. Besides, they were like brothers; there would always be some give and take, but he knew Jacobs would not do him wrong.

"Okay, I've come to a decision."

Henry's eyes grew wide with eager expectancy, "Yeah?"

"None of this is going to work."

"What do you mean nothing's going to work? Something has to work! I can't go to the party in just my boxers."

"Oh, please, Hen. Like anybody up at _MODE_ would notice. Half-naked is just another day at the office for them."

Seeing the seriousness behind his friend's joking sent Henry into a new wave of fright. Hastily, he began grabbing articles of clothing, thrusting them upon his torso.

"What about this?"

"Tweed? Are you kidding me? "

"It's a classic!"

"It's 70-year old college professor."

"Well, what about this?"

"A _black_ sweater vest? At Christmas? Isn't that sacrilegious?"

Defeated, Henry slumped down on his bed. It was useless; he and Betty were not meant to be.

"Well, thanks anyway, J."

The sadness in his voice was undeniable, and it caused Jacob to take pause. Before him, his friend stared up at the ceiling, all the life suddenly blown out of him. And Jacobs realized he was responsible for it. Once again, he had inadvertently hurt his best friend, who was nothing but magnanimous in return.

"Here," he sighed, unbuttoning his coat and throwing it on the chair, "take my sweater. Just be careful with it, it's 100 cashmere."

Henry sat up halfway, staring at Jacobs in shock. He knew that Jacobs NEVER lent anyone his clothes. To him, they were his security blanket, his costume of confidence. It was a HUGE gesture for both men, knowing the underlying sacrifice.

Jacobs threw a pair of grey trousers and a white undershirt on top of his sweater and gently handed them to his friend. "This will do."

"Thanks."

Jacobs shrugged his shoulder nonchalantly and scooped up his belongings.

"Look Henry, I know that sometimes I can be a shitty friend. And I know I pick on you, on how you act, on how you dress, on who you like. But you're you. You're Henry. And that's pretty fuckin' awesome. It's easy to pick out the right labels. It's a lot harder to be a good person. So, yeah, I love you, and more importantly, _Betty_ will love you, if you just be yourself tonight."

Henry stood up, speechless at Jacobs' pronouncement. He didn't know whether to hug him or shake his hand. He just knew that he was glad that he chose Jacobs to be the one to share his worry that night.

"J…"

"Don't get all emotional," Jacob muttered, quickly reverting back to character, "That was your Christmas present. Now where's mine? I do remember it was the reason I was tricked into coming here."

Henry laughed and thrust a beautifully wrapped box in Jacobs' direction. Excusing himself, he wandered off to change, allowing his friend to open his gift privately. Eagerly, like a little boy, Jacobs tore off the paper, not bothering to admire its beauty. Henry had given him a combination of PREVAGE and ZIRH men's grooming products for Christmas. Jacobs was aghast that his friend was so in tune with him and had gone to the trouble to spend so much; he knew that the eye serum alone cost over one hundred dollars.

"Well?"

Jacobs looked up to see Henry dressed, standing before him nervously like a kid on the first day of school.

"Not bad."

The two shared a knowing smile as Henry guided his friend to the door. They shook hands, they shared a hug, and then it was time for both of them to go do their own things.

"One last thing, Hen," Jacobs said, before sliding out the door, "Whatever you do, just don't dance."

"What's wrong with my dancing?"

But it was too late, the door clicked shut.

"_Seriously_, what's wrong with my dancing?"

-:-:-:-

The party was in full swing by the time Henry arrived. Jacobs was right, half-naked seemed to be the norm, as slutty Santas in pink bras and flirty skirts danced around the crowd, offering hor'deurves and champagne.

"Drink," one scantily clad hostess offered.

Henry accepted gratefully, hoping a little alcohol would calm him down. He wandered around the floor admiring Betty's handy-work. There was a giant snowflake ice sculpture that reflected little rainbows on the walls, birch trees mounted in fake snow, white Christmas trees adorned in a bevy of colored crystals and lights…it was all very chic.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a twinkling red sweater vest and knew it was her. He couldn't help smiling at it or at her and completely forgot to stop walking, crashing into a woman in front of him.

"Oh! Uh, sorry," he apologized, sloppily trying to wipe his spilt champagne from the back of her black lace dress. The deadly look of the male companion she was with caused him to stop, sheepishly backing away.

"Henry!"

"Robert! What are you doing here? Merry Christmas, by the way."

Henry hadn't seen Robert in a while. The poor guy had spent three days sick after Jacobs and some others had convinced him to eat six bottles of honey on Halloween. After that, Robert had moved cubicles, and tenaciously avoided the group as much as he could. Still, he looked relieved that night to see someone he recognized.

"I was put on the _MODE_ account this month. I guess this was their way of thanking me for making sure their books were in order. Say, have you tried these white snowball thingies? They're really good."

Henry laughed; relieved to know that Robert's stomach had apparently not taken much of a beating after all. Gratefully, he accepted a ball. Robert then began a loquacious tirade about how overworked the third floor was, but Henry stopped listening and started looking around for Betty again. He didn't mean to be rude; Robert's concerns were more than justifiable. It was just that he was at a party; the shop talk could wait another day.

Biting into his snowball, and laughing half-heartedly at Robert's joke, he turned to see Betty staring directly at him from across the way. Smiling what he hoped was his brightest smile, he raised his glass to her in a gesture of celebrating her accomplishments. Much to his extreme delight, she returned the smile tenfold, delicately brushing her nose. Henry mimicked the gesture, suddenly realizing that the tip of his nose was covered in powder sugar. Feeling somewhat silly, but immensely happy that she was paying close attention to him, he again flashed her a boyish smile.

"So what do you think, Henry?"

Henry guiltily snapped his attention back to his coworker. He had not heard a single word Robert had said.

"Um, well…"

"Hey, we're out of drink over here," a raucous voice around the two yelled in despair.

"I'll open a bottle," Henry chimed up, grateful for the opportunity to steal away, "If you'll excuse me, Robert."

Henry excused himself profusely, grabbing a bottle from the buffet table. It was apparent people were quickly crossing the line from sobriety into abandoned drunkenness—mambo lines were in full force, and a handful of people were making snow angels in the fake snow.

Expertly maneuvering around happy couples, careful this time not to bump into anyone, Henry made his way safely to the circle desk. If there was a corkscrew, surely it'd be there. Not seeing one on the desktop, Henry began opening drawers, still to no avail.

"Ow," a voice cried, her pain resonating with a loud thud.

_I know that voice._

"Betty," he asked, cocking his head to the side and trying not to laugh, to see her curled up under the desk, "are you okay?"

"Hi," she cried out, pushing her glasses up and darting out from under her hiding place.

Much as he tried, Henry could not hide his amusement and raised his eyebrows as if to ask for an explanation.

_What is she doing? How adorable._

"Oh, um, there it is, just…" she smiled brightly, digging around in the purse above her, only to pull out a line of condoms, "I was just making sure that everybody was being safe. You know…office party hookups and…"

It was adorably obvious that this was a ruse, and that she was embarrassed. It took every fiber of Henry's being not to laugh; he didn't want to make her feel any worse than she already did. But inside he was dancing, she was just so endearing. And deep down, a part of him really thought she might have been nervous to see him.

"That's very responsible of you," he allowed, some gentle chuckles escaping, "You need some help?"

"Yeah," she breathed, gratefully accepting his extended hand, only to withdraw quickly, "Thanks."

_Did she notice how sweaty my palms were? Crap. No, I will not get discouraged. She's just nervous like me_.

"Hey, you should come back to the party. Um, Beauty is making snow angels, well, in the plastic snow," he rambled trying to act cool and finally finding the corkscrew. "I just came for this."

Betty nodded nervously and offered up a tiny smile, but the air around them had grown fraught with uneasiness.

"All right."

"Okay!"

"Have fun," he said, turning to go.

"You too."

Henry returned to the crowd discouraged. This night was not going according to plan. What happened to the plucky conversation that they had exchanged so easily only a day before? It was his fault, he knew, not hers. He was too jittery around her, he was trying too hard and it was making her uncomfortable. He just needed to loosen up some more, relax a little, clear his mind…yes.

Four drinks later, and Henry was more than loose, he was downright limber. Tipsily, he danced around with dorky abandon, inebriated for the first time since his college days. He gyrated alone, completely unaware of the fact, but rather feeling as he was joined by the entire floor in his festivities. He gave and received high fives generously, as he be-bopped across the floor.

He saw her staring at him, holding the snow globe that had melted the ice between them. He waved enthusiastically, knocking his glasses in the process. Readjusting them, he smiled drunkenly when she returned the greeting.

And then, in the midst of chaos and drink, he had a moment of clarity. She was looking at him like she never had done before--a combination of longing, of sadness, of guilt, and of confusion. He stopped smiling. Betty was always so collected and composed, that he had forgotten that she was only 22. Staring back at him was not a confident woman, but a tortured, innocent, inexperienced girl. Part of his heart broke right there, while the rest beat its desire to go soothe hers. But all he could do was smile, stuck in his spot, frozen in this place and time.

He was so caught up in this bittersweet yet perfect moment, he didn't have time to react properly to what unfolded next. A forceful hand, lipstick lips, and chestnut curls tickling his face. She pressed hard, she tasted bitter, she reeked of champagne. He had no idea who she was, but he knew she wasn't Betty. And thus, she wasn't for him.

He finally pushed her back, a look of clear confusion and total disgust written across his face. But he didn't have time to chastise her, he was focused on Betty.

_Where is she?_

He brushed past his attacker, and vigorously pushed through the throngs of partiers. He saw her, she was leaving; she looked upset.

"Betty! Betty, where are you going?"

Her final look sent chills up his spine as the elevator doors closed, and he stopped dead in his tracks.

_Oh my god. She saw._

-:-:-:-

He didn't go after her. He didn't go home. He didn't know what to do.

So he took the elevator to the third floor. He reorganized his drawers. He tidied up his cubicle. He went around the office saying "Merry Christmas" to everybody before he left the office until the New Year. And then there was nothing else he could do but go home.

He stepped into the elevator dully, barely making a sound. He went to press for the ground floor, but his finger stopped short.

_I came so close. Too close. No more of this. I'm finishing what I started._

Firmly, with a renewed sense of determination, he hit the button to the MODE floor. He was surprised to find he was not the only one up there.

"There's no champagne left, buddy, so just turn around. Trust me, I checked."

Henry just stood there dumbfounded, staring at Amanda struggling to sweep up the little bits of confetti and snow.

"Seriously, I-Oh, it's you, Accountantman," she said flatly, "did you forget your pocket protector or something?"

"Um," Henry spoke hoarsely, clearing his throat, "I was hoping I could use your floor directory."

This interested her, and she temporarily halted. "What, are you looking to become Betty's dork in shining armor? Because, as weird as it is, she already has her nerd reject. Unbelievable, I know."

"Please, just one call."

Seeing his desperation, Amanda momentarily softened. "Whatever, but if you and Betty end up getting married or something I expect commission or something," She pulled up the directory on her computer then wandered off to the ladies room, leaving him to his own devices.

Nervously, he sat down at her desk. As he gently grazed the smooth countertop, he flashed back to earlier that evening when he caught her hiding from him. There was something there, he didn't know what exactly, but it was pure and it was good. And he just wasn't ready to let go.

The phone ringing was deafening.

"Hello?"

He took a deep breath. "Hi, is Betty there?"

"Yeah. Who's calling?"

"It's Henry, her…uh…friend. From work."

The other end grew deafeningly silent.

"Hello, are you still there?"

"Yeah, sorry. Um, actually, you know, Betty is busy. Can I take a message?"

"Yes, please. Tell her about the party-"

He halted. He couldn't tell her what happened over the phone. It was not the right thing to do. She needed to hear it in person, to see how sincere he was.

"You know what? I just wanted to let her know that Rudolph's on tomorrow night. She can call me if she wants to watch it, you know, together."

Again, momentary quiet.

"Uh, okay. I'll tell her. Thanks, bye."

The phone clicked, and the line went dead. And as hard as he tried, Henry couldn't help but feel his chances went with it. But he had tried his best. He knew Betty; she would call him back with some sort of answer. And he'd have his chance to make it right.

_I have to._

-:-:-:-

The next day passed slowly, each moment torture for Henry. He tried to put on a brave face and pretend things were normal. He showered, he cleaned up his apartment, he packed for home.

He didn't leave his house.

She was going to call. He knew it. She was just a little worn out from the party. She slept in late. She was going call. She was just busy running errands. She was going to call. She was probably wrapping Christmas presents with her family and just lost track of time.

He made sugar cookies. He poured two cups of hot cocoa. He dimmed the lights. He turned on the television. And he waited.

_She's going to call_.

Rudolph came on. "Have a Holly Jolly Christmas" played. Rudolph and Clarice fell in love. And Rudolph saved the day.

He turned off his set.

She had not called.

There were 1,564,798 people in Manhattan that night. But for the first time since he moved there, as Henry sat there in the dark, silent, still and alone, it felt like there was only one.

-:-:-:-


End file.
